


Whirlwind

by electronic_elevator



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Bladder Control, Crying, Dacryphilia, Dom/sub, Omorashi, Other, POV Second Person, basically no plot. just piss, gender neutral dom reader, other person uses he/him and has a dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:21:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29943042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electronic_elevator/pseuds/electronic_elevator
Summary: You make him piss himself. He cries about it. It’s very good for both of you.
Relationships: Reader/Other(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	Whirlwind

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t remember writing this (the dates on the doc say August 2020, though) and I feel like the tone shifts pretty hard at the end, but the semester, as usual, is eating me alive and so other writing is not getting done. 😅 Have the only non-Markip//lier thing I've written in more than a year!

He sat, so tense and fidgety, with his legs pressed together and crossed and his arms jammed down into the middle of it all, holding himself. His face was bright red and from his pitiful whining you thought holding himself probably wasn’t helping so much. He was curling up as much as he could, trying to hide his disarray and distress and shame. 

That simply wouldn’t do. You wanted to see him lose it. You reached forward, placing your hands firmly on both his knees. 

His head shot up, looking at you with wide, panicked eyes. “Nononononono..!” 

You only smirked at him, pushing his knees apart. He gasped and squirmed, shaking his head. “I’ll— I’m gonna—“ 

“Hands behind you,” you instructed softly, and he groaned but listened, leaning back on them. Now you enjoyed a full view of his crotch and abdomen. 

“I can’t,” he said shakily, tearing up. Just after, you saw a spot of wetness bloom near the head of his cock, small at first but growing in fits and spurts as he breathed heavily, clearly still trying to hold it. It was a lost cause — you both knew it, but he still whimpered when he finally lost control completely. His stream picked up force enough that his pee arced through the fabric at the tip of his cock for a few seconds. He gave a small moan at the sensation of all that piss rushing out of him; tears sparkled at the ends of his lashes as his eyes fell half-closed. 

You cooed. “Look at you, soaking yourself. You’ll ruin the mattress, you know. We’re going to have to clean all this piss off of you, out of the sheets…” Most of the front of his underwear was soaked, now — probably the back, too; the way he was sitting, he was probably making a puddle under himself. A shame you couldn’t see the whole way ‘round.

He couldn’t even look at you. He was too embarrassed; it was overwhelming to be on display like this, with you so close — with you _touching_ him, seeing every drip pouring out of him, and between that and the relief and the warmth and the pleasure and the wetness, all as he was still pissing full-force, it was too much. He sniffled, breath hitching.

“Awww, dearest, are you going to cry about your accident?” 

He nodded (your question had been rhetorical and teasing, but still a question) as his sniffles turned to little sobs.

God, you loved it when he cried about it. 

His stream was finally tapering off, the last trickles leaving him truly empty for the first time in hours and hours, but he couldn’t stop the tears. He figured it was alright to move his hands now that he was done peeing. He had to adjust himself first, sitting up a little straighter even though it meant he could feel the puddle of soaked bedsheets beneath him squish wetly, saturating small portions of his underwear that had stayed dry thus-far. He tried to wipe his tears, but you’d let go of him when he moved (no need to keep his knees apart now) and pulled him forward into a hug. You were hoping to avoid getting yourself wet, so it was a slightly awkward angle, but he accepted it gratefully, clinging to you as you pet his hair, and you just held him for a minute. “There, there, my love. Doesn’t that feel better now?”

He nodded, and you kissed the side of his face, murmuring, “God, you’re so pretty like this. You did exactly what I wanted you to do. We’ll get you cleaned up soon. Take a minute.” 

He was calming down, now — tears turning to just sniffles. You kissed him softly on the temple. “…How was that?” 

He had to laugh. The mix of arousal and humiliation was still coiling in his stomach and fogging his head. He was still sitting in wet, clinging clothes on a soaked bed, after all, but the emotional and physical release of pissing himself and crying had it all backed by a sort of euphoria and at the center of it all was _you,_ loving him and helping him try things he’d always wanted to do and taking care of him after. “Amazing,” he said. 

“Good,” you murmured, kissing him again.


End file.
